


And Peace on Earth

by misura



Category: Lynes and Mathey Series - Amy Griswold & Melissa Scott
Genre: Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2794589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Someone cast a curse on our Christmas tree?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Peace on Earth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lonelywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/gifts).



> written by way of a treat, because I love these characters, to say nothing of these books
> 
> rating only applies to one (brief) passage, really; the majority of this is solidly rated G

The room resembled nothing so much as a battlefield, for all that the fallen seemed mostly limited to papers that had at one point been, if not quite properly ordered, then at least stacked to offer a semblance of being so.

A tea cup lay among the chaos, overturned but whole and apparently, happily, empty at the time of its upheaval, given the dry state of the floor and paper surrounding it. An ink pot appeared to be in the same state, save for the difference that the ink pot had definitely been full when it was overturned, as testified to by the fact that Ned still spied its contents inside of it.

Next to him, he heard Julian sigh in relief, which seemed not quite a sentiment to fit the circumstances until Ned spotted its inspiration: Julian's coffee machine, as whole as the tea cup and ink pot.

"Well, so much for any plans we might have had for this evening." Ned knew what his had been, and he had a fair suspicion they had bore a strong resemblance to Julian's own, possibly with a slight variance in the details.

"Possibly." Julian's expression was thoughtful. "Or possibly, we might decide to dine out after all, and see what happens after that."

"Somehow, I very much doubt this room will be magically back to the way we left it this morning upon our return," Ned said dryly. "Sooner or later, we'll need to deal with this mess."

"And if I were to tell you that, presented with those two choices, my vote would be for the latter?"

"Then I would counter that firstly, we should attempt to reorder your case notes while some of their details may still be fresh in your mind - "

Julian gestured dismissively. "A few hours will hardly matter there."

"Secondly, I feel very strongly that if anything is missing, I should like to find out what it is as quickly as possible. It may provide us with some clue as to who's done this."

"A clue." Julian sounded amused. "My dear Mathey, you very nearly sound like one of those private detective one reads about in novels with titles that invariably seem to include words like 'mystery' and 'murder' - or, 'death', should the author feel the desire to be coy about affairs."

"You should know better than I do," Ned replied. Julian possessed an extensive collection of fiction, not a few of which did, indeed, have the word 'mystery' in their title or, barring that, 'case'.

Julian shrugged. "I take a professional interest in how the public is inclined to view those in my line of work. It's useful when meeting prospective clients, to have some idea of what might be expected of you in the way of mannerisms and speech."

"Should I be expecting to soon see you smoking a pipe while wearing a fedora?"

"You're not a client, are you?" Julian gingerly made his way to his beloved coffee machine and turned it upright again. "I don't need to put on any sort of show for you to make a favorable impression."

Ned couldn't resist a bit of teasing. "Are you saying you feel I'm not worth impressing anymore?"

"Say rather I feel you have been sufficiently impressed to stick around for a while without my needing to pose as something other than I am."

Ned decided there was a compliment hidden in that sentence somewhere. "Thank you."

"Also, you're very difficult to impress. I simply don't feel like making the effort when I don't absolutely have to. You know what I'm like."

"I do, which is why I won't take offense at the suggestion that I'm someone you think you can take for granted," Ned said. "Besides, you're not so very easy to impress yourself."

"True." Julian returned the coffee machine to its usual place, and Ned was reminded of the seriousness of the situation. Whoever had ransacked the apartment had not felt any need to be subtle about it, nor the least inclination to attempt to hide their visit.

Ned could not say he cared for what that suggested about their unexpected visitor.

"Didn't you say you hadn't taken on any new cases recently?" Julian had more or less insisted Ned do the same, in order to be able to spend a quiet, peaceful holiday season together.

The idea that Julian might not only have decided to take on a client after all stung, but not nearly as much as the notion that he might have deliberately attempted to keep this from Ned. Keeping secrets was one thing; it was hardly as if Ned expected Julian to tell him absolutely everything, nor would he wish for Julian to do so.

Breaking promises and lying about it was a different kettle of fish entirely, and not one Ned liked the smell of. He had thought that by now, their relationship had evolved to a greater trust between them.

"I haven't." Julian's voice was sharp; clearly, he had some inkling of what Ned was thinking. "And may I say that I resent your implication that I would have done so without at least mentioning it to you?"

"Sorry," Ned said. It was not hard to sound and look as if he meant it.

"Apology accepted. I suppose it would be too much to hope you're willing to make amends by changing your mind about dining out?" Words notwithstanding, Julian did look slightly hopeful.

"I don't believe you can first accept my apology and then demand I make amends," Ned said. "It usually works the other way around: amends first, then forgiveness."

"Perhaps you should offer me apologies more often. Clearly, I haven't got the hang of accepting them properly just yet." Julian smiled a little wryly.

"It's not my fault I do so little I need apologizing for," Ned said, barely suppressing a smile of his own.

"Yes." Julian sighed. "Your behavior is generally wholly above reproach. Positively dull, one might say."

"Hardly that." Ned flushed, recalling at least one occasion on which his behavior had hardly been above reproach, and the furthest thing from dull - although he imagined Julian's standards in such matters might be different from Ned's own, still.

They had not repeated the experience, but he still vividly recalled the way his heart had seemed to nearly jump out of his chest upon the sound of approaching footsteps, the way Julian had stilled against him, his skin as sweat-slicked as Ned's, the better part of their clothes an infinite distance away, on the billiards table.

The fantasy of potential discovery had thrilled Ned, true. Reality had brought a real thrill with it, though, and Ned was not at all sure he had a taste for it. Julian seemed to have picked up on this; he had not suggested they do anything like it ever again - and the first time, the suggestion had been Ned's own.

"Would you care to share your thoughts? Judging by your face, they might well serve as evidence to support your claim." Julian grinned.

"I don't need evidence," Ned said. "You know perfectly well I'm not dull."

"Well, it would reflect rather poorly on me if I didn't, wouldn't it? My taste in friends, in particular."

"What reflects poorly on you right now, in my opinion, is your lack of concern at this mess." Ned's sweeping gesture included the entirety of the room. "This is hardly a joking matter. If we had returned earlier, who knows what might have happened?"

"I daresay I can venture a guess," Julian said.

He was probably right; Ned had a sportsman's constitution, and Julian himself was hardly a slouch. "Even so."

"It's not a break-in, you know." Julian picked up some papers. "The door was still locked, when we arrived. Since we've left, nobody has entered or left the apartment."

"That's impossible." Ned supposed an enchantment might be written to reduce a room to such a state such as this, but he could not fathom why anyone would wish to, other than as a means of intimidation, in which case simply hiring someone would be both easier and cheaper.

"Not at all. Don't you smell anything? It's faint, I'll grant you."

Ned sniffed experimentally. A whiff of tea, a hint of ink. Fir, from -

"Someone cast a curse on our Christmas tree?" It was in the next room, a big, stately affair, dearly bought and lovingly decorated. Ned had felt obliged to protest the expense; Julian had pointed out that, really, why not splurge a little now that they had the money?

"A curse? Nothing so malicious. Rather, let's say I suspect a certain amount of ill-wishing paired with misplaced jealousy."

"You're not making any sense," Ned complained.

"Neither are you," Julian replied. "Who would have cause to maledict an innocent fir? Other than the obvious culprit and cause for all this, naturally."

"I don't like repeating myself."

"I'd explain the whole thing, but I might be wrong," Julian said. "Instead, allow me to draw your attention to your own earlier idea, which was that by cleaning up, we might discover something missing or, as the case may be, something moved."

"Moved?" Ned echoed, before he could check himself.

Julian charitably let it pass without comment. He walked to the half-open door. Ned followed, noting the scent of fir grew stronger as he got closer.

There had been an enchantment on the tree, naturally; Ned had inspected it himself, to be sure the scent would be pleasant and subtle, rather than overwhelmingly strong, to the point where everything they ate or drank within a hundred feet of the tree would smell and taste like fir.

Some of the cheaper trees had that effect. Setting an enchantment to preserve a particular smell was relatively easy; keeping that smell pleasantly modest, yet not so faint as to go unnoticed took some more skill and expertise.

Ned might have managed it himself, given time and study, but these sorts of spells were not his usual kind of thing.

"I still don't - " he started, when Julian pushed the door fully open, so that they might both take in the scene it had previously kept hidden from their sight.

"As I suspected." Julian looked rather pleased with himself, almost to the point of smugness.

"As you suspected?" Ned was momentarily at a loss for words with which to express his thoughts.

Their Christmas tree, the work of an entire afternoon, lie on the floor. Several of the decorations Ned had put in it seemed to have been damaged beyond repair.

Tangled inside the branches of the tree was Julian's moved object - although how it had dragged itself to here, Ned was unable to imagine. Clearly, it had taken some effort.

"Do you mean to tell me you thought this might happen all along?"

Julian had the grace to look at least a little bit embarrassed. "Not right away. It only occurred to me after we had already gotten the tree, and by then, it seemed rather too late to do anything about it."

"Perhaps you shouldn't have fed it so often."

"I hardly think my care and feeding of it is the problem," Julian said. "Clearly, it was motivated by envy, not hunger. It acted to eliminate a rival, not to hunt for food or some such thing."

Ned stared at the _Urtica mordax_. It had entered Julian's apartment as barely more than a twig; it had grown considerably since then. "Plants don't get jealous."

"Clearly, they do," Julian said.

Ned decided not to argue. "Should I be worried as well?"

"Why? You're not a plant, are you?" Julian moved determinedly forwards. "Maybe I should move it closer to the door. One can't keep a watchdog in this sort of place; we might have discovered a viable alternative. A good deal less noisy, too - and probably a great deal less easily bribed by some sausages."

"You're not going to have it destroyed, then."

"Certainly not. Do you see its pot anywhere?"

Ned sighed. "Might I simply state for the record that I am quite fond of dogs? I have no particular objection to cats, either, mind you."

"Cats don't deter unwelcome visitors."

"No. Nor welcome ones, either."

"You're overreacting," Julian said, gently coaxing the _Urtica mordax_ to release its hold on the fir.

"And you're going to help me clean up," Ned said. "We'll go out for dinner, after. Not before."

"Not quite what I'd hoped for, but fair enough."


End file.
